B    M    D27    QTD 


i  MOMGNT 


MAR  SARKAR 


THE  BLISS  OF  A 
MOMENT 

BY 

BENOY  KUMAR  SARKAR 


BOSTON 

THE  POET  LORE  COMPANY 

THE  GORHAM  PRESS 


Copyright,  1918,  by  Benoy  Kumar  Sarkar 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Snolhf)  AturnnuS 


MADE  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


The  Gobham  Press,  Boston,  H.  S.  A. 


PREFACE 

All  these  poems  have  been  written  in  English 
from  the  original  Bengali  by  the  author  himself.  All 
the  pieces  in  Part  IV  (except  two)  are,  as  indi- 
cated in  the  titles,  extracts  from  longer  poems, 
which  are  studies  in  situations  and  attitudes.  A  few 
appeared  in  the  "Conservator." 

Benoy  Kumar  Sarkar. 
April  26,  1918. 


CONTENTS 

I.     The  Call  of  the  Sea 

Page 

The  Atlantic  in  Storm 1 1 

The   Boundless    I2 

The  Songs  of  the  Sea 13 

An  Autumn  Night  on  the  Pacific 14 

The  Sea  as  Motion 15 

Tsu-shima  Sea 16 

The  Message  of  the  Sea 17 

II.     Flesh  and  Blood 

The  Raw  Flesh 21 

Living    22 

Truth  in  Art   23 

The  Voice  of  the  Pariah 24 

Unrest    25 

The  Creed  of  Poverty 26 

Inspiration   27 

Death 28 

The  Mind  of  the  Master   r 29 

The  Mind  of  the  Slave 30 

The  Gods 31 

5 


CONTENTS 

The    Universal   Touchstone    32 

The  Poet's  Manifesto 33 

The   Home    34 

Self-expression   35 

Human    36 

To  Find  Your  Religion 37 

The  Climacteric   38 

The  Cry  of  the  Poor 39 

The  Patrie 40 

The  Artist 41 

The  Individual    42 

The  Sonnet   43 

Break,   Break,   Break    44 

The    Soul    45 

HI.  Sights  and  Sounds 

On  the  Hill-top 49 

Assaouan  on  the  Nile 50 

The  Line  of  Pyramids 51 

The  Delta 53 

My    Night    54 

Korea  in  Rains 55 

Mount  Tai-shan 56 

At   Nanking    57 

In  North  China   58 

Among  Animals    59 

6 


CONTENTS 

The  Earth 60 

Japan   61 

Midnight  Boating 62 

A  Village  in  Japan   63 

At    Miyajima    64 

An  Evening 65 

Sunset  in  California 66 

Crossing  the  Rockies 67 

Bleak  December 68 

Spring    69 

Spring  in  America   70 

After  a  Spring  Shower 71 

The  Blue  Hill    72 

Statue  of  Liberty 73 

Shakti  ( Energ\' )  •. 74 

IV.     "What  Love  Might  Be,  Hath  Been, 
AND  Is" 

In  the  State  of  Nature  (From  "The  Begin- 
nings of  the  S\,  iss  Republic")    77 

The  Woman's  Fancy   78 

Mazzini's  Thoughts  Regarding  Magdalene 
(From  "The  Youth  of  Mazzini")    79 

The   Vita  Nuova   Explained   by   Dante    (From 

"Dream-Beatrice")    80 

Shakoontala's  Tears  Remembered  by  Doosyanta 

(From  "The  Expiation  of  Doosyanta")    .  .    81 

7 


CONTENTS 

While  He  Is  Away   82 

Faust  Relating  the  Gretchen  Episode  to 
Mephistopheles  (From  "Faust's  Experi- 
ence" )     83 

The   Lover's  Woman    (From   "Browning   and 

Barrett")    84 

An  Epistle  of  Mazzini  (From  "The  Youth  of 
Mazzini" )    85 

Repentant  Doosyanta  Reflecting  on  Woman 
(From  "The  Expiation  of  Doosyanta")   . .    86 

V.     Personality 

Robert  Browning   89 

Walt   Whitman    90 

Asoka   91 

Virgil   92 

Dante 93 

Napoleon   94 

Goethe   95 

Dwi-jendra-lal   Roy    96 


I 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  SEA 


THE  ATLANTIC  IN  STORM 

Here  at  last  is  the  ocean  indeed 
Full  of  boisterous  dancing  wild ; 
Only  then  is  a  life  being  lived  by  man 
When  stir  and  turmoil   rule  his  self. 

It  is  laughter  this  moment  and  crying  next, 
Playing  and  singing  then  again ; 
No  story  of  rest,  no  message  of  peace 
Finds  echo  in  heroic  hearts. 

Changes  on  changes'  heels  I  see  around  me 
In  the  sport  of  colours  and  waves; 
Here  in  this  full  swing  of  wanton  revels 
No  rules  and  canons  one  can  find. 

Foolish  that  thou  thinkest  perchance  thou  hast 
Caught  life's  being  firm  within  thy  hands ; 
Forthwith  insolently  thee  it  eludes 
In  splashing,  booming,  breaking  gait. 

Whenever   once   thou   understandest   life, 
Its  dignity  is  surely  lost ; 
But  that  it  is  not  ever  to  be  grasped 
Is  its  grand  mystery  and  strength. 

Thou,  in  love  with  storm,  inviting  ruin. 
Thy  waves  bombarding  the  highest  decks, 
O  Atlantic,  my  companion  long. 
Aeons  thy  spirit  in  me  dwells! 


THE  BOUNDLESS 

Look  not  to  the  sea  for  the  infinite,  ■ 

It  is  the  human  life  that  boundless  is; 

Who  would  call  that  an  unlimited  being 

Whose  measurements  are  to  all  known  and  fixed? 

The  sea's  limits  were  found  by  sailing  boats 
Of  merchants,  Phoenician,  Hindu,  Greek; 
Subdued  and  ruled  are  the  vast  blue  waters 
Today  by  electricity  and  steam. 

The  weight  of  every  quart  of  brine  you  know, 
Of  the  polar  as  of  the  tropic  seas ; 
You  know  where  the  depth  is  Himalayan  height, 
Also  the  deeper  and  shallower  beds. 

The  metric  standard  has  gauged  the  billows. 
The  ocean  floor  has  tendered  its  contents ; 
How  far  down  the  surface  pass  heat  and  light 
Is  perceptible  to  extended  touch  and  sight. 

The  Gulf  Stream's  path  and  speed  are  all  chalked 

out. 
Scheduled  are  the  exact  times  of  the  tides, 
You  can  write  out  the  correct  horoscope 
Of  the  monsoons  and  the  trade  winds  of  the  globe. 

By  man's  strength  is  the  universe  always 
Of  an  infinite's  mystery  deprived ; 
The  only  adorable  on  earth,  then,  is 
The  limitless  life,  love,  hatred  of  man. 


THE  SONGS  OF  THE  SEA 

Of  what  doth  the  sea  sing?     Its  breath  exhales 

The  story  of  the  whole  universe! 

Every  bubble  of  its  wavy  self 

Reveals  kinship  with  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars. 

It  kisses  the  sky's  vapour  from  the  air, 
Fishes  and  plants  in  its  womb  praise  the  skies ; 
Its  garments  are  the  gifts  from  light  and  clouds, 
The  blue  deeps  are  thus  tinged  purple,  dark,  green; 
Minerals  and  salts  does  the  land  help  it  with, 
The  sea's  returns  are  but  the  soils  dissolved. 

To  the  sea  the  rivers  bring  the  spirit 
Of  thousands  of  villages  and  cities ; 
Of  what  else  can  the  lord  of  rivers  sing 
But  of  the  life  that  men  and  women  live? 

All  the  forces  are  concentrated  here, 

Sweet  and  terrible,  bright  and  dark,  life  and  death ; 

From  this  reservoir  of  unnumbered  gems 

A  message  of  unending  strength  does  rise ; 

The  boundless  ocean  with  its  trumpet  call 

Is  the  perennial  energy's  bard. 


13 


AN  AUTUMN  NIGHT  ON  THE  PACIFIC 

The  waves  by  day  got  their  hues  from  the  sky, 

The  dark  night  makes  the  sky  dance  to  the  waves. 

Lo,  there,  the  lamp  at  the  top  of  the  mast, — 
How  frantic  it  leaps  to  rival  the  stars! 

Reddish,  bright,  or  faint  do  the  planets  gleam. 
They  travel  lonesome,  coupled,  or  in  groups. 

Up  in  the  dome's  ceiling  gems  countless  burn, 
Down,  the  dark  carpet  is  ruffled  by  the  wind. 

Darkness  has  reduced  the  watery  sheet. 
Reduced  the  volume  of  the  ocean's  roof ; 
Too  quick  are  left  the  new  horizons  behind, 
And  fresh  clouds  on  fresh  arches  greet  the  eyes. 

The  stars  are  rising  and  setting  at  will, 
The  constellations  sojourn  on  their  rounds. 
But  peaceless  and  full  of  turbulence  heaves 
The  Pacific's  breast  in  an  autumn  night. 


14- 


THE  SEA  AS  MOTION 

Art  thou  motion  incarnate,  O  wild  sea? 

Is  thy  restlessness  at  once  thy  strength  and  grace? 

In  movement  the  soul  of  beauty  lies; 

Hast  thou  worn  that  as  thy  dress  on  all  limbs? 

I  see  thy  billows  at  riotous  play 

Are  but  lines  geometric  on  the  dance. 

Up  thy  million  hands  something  to  grasp, 

Watchful  inconstant  thy  myriad  eyes. 

Full  of  desires  is  thy  passionate  face. 

Thy  breast  surges  with  bitter  griefs  and  pangs. 

Surely  of  thy  treasure  art  thou  deprived. 
Parted  from  beloved,  perchance,  thou  art. 
Or  what  thou  seekest  eludes  ever  thy  grasp, — 
Is  this  what  maddens  thee  and  stirs  thy  frame? 

It  is  wants  that  awaken  thy  spirit, 
O  thou  beauty  in  destruction's  guise! 
Whosoever  carries  a  hungry  heart 
Must  embody  the  soul  of  revolt. 


»5 


TSU-SHIMA  SEA 

The  sea  of  Tsu-shima  kisses  the  foot 

Of  Korean  hills  at  Fusan, 

The  mists  have  covered  the  thatched  huts  ashore 

And  dark  clouds  enveloped  the  sky. 

The  sea  looks  pitch-black  from  its  cloudy  tent, 
The  ship-cleft  waters  bubble  blue  in  white, 
Liquid  silver  glimmers  at  spots  not  far 
Whereon  the  sun  can  dart  its  beams. 

Yonder,  Tsu-shima,  the  "isle  of  pines"  evergreen. 
Here,  the  sea  under  rainy  skies, — 
Both  have  witnessed  the  marvellous  battle 
By  which  Japan  has  saved  the  East. 

To  crush  Nippon  came  the  Russian  fleet, 
Its  grave  it  found  through  Togo's  skill ; 
Asia's  Salamis,  then,  is  this. 
And  Port  Arthur,  the  Marathon,  there. 


i6 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  SEA 

To  the  heroic  soul  the  sea  appears 

As  youth  full  of  breakings  and  makings  fresh; 

The  mind  that  creates  ideals  discovers 

Ever  new  forms  on  the  sea's  breast  emerge. 

W'hat  is  the  sea  in  the  scientist's  eyes? 
Revolt  and  struggle  at  every  step ; 
The  mystic  rapt  in  meditation  reads 
Here  the  message  of  the  Eternal  Self. 

Beauteous  both  as  sweet  and  austere, 
The  sea   inspires  poets  to  lofty  verse, — 
The  strain  that  proceeds  therefrom  is  a  spur 
To  noble  freedom,  full  and  simple  life. 

Love  itself  is  the  sea  to  tlie  lovers'  gaze, 
Swelling  with  longings,  calm  when  satisfied ; 
Joy's  self  it  is  to  those  that  are  alive. 
To  the  oppressed  it  is  but  cries  and  tears. 

The  past,  present,  future,  ages,  cycles, — 
All  that  limitless  is,  are  the  sea's  walls; 
The  stillness  of  the  midnight  it  evokes 
And  the  deepest  g'oom  of  the  dark  fortnight. 


17 


II 

FLESH  AND  BLOOD 


THE  RAW  FLESH 

Lo,  there,  the  Santals  are  issuing  forth 

In  bands  with  yells  for  the  game  or  the  chase; 

They  would  cross  the  woods  and  would  jostle  the 

beasts  , 
Thus  would  their  appetites  be  whetted  sharp. 

And,  here,  the  fifty  youths  seven  hours  long 
Are  swimming  on  the  breast  of  the  ocean ; 
Ten  miles  of  water  they  are  making  now, 
Tomorrow  they  are  sure  to  break  the  world. 

The  hugest  trees  are  being  sliced  to  pieces 
By  the  single  woodman's  unaided  axe ; 
The  vigorous  tide  of  his  warm  life-blood 
No  philosopher  could  ever  surmise. 

The  farmer  in  his  cot  a  free  man  is, 

A  nucleus  of  energy'  his  home ; 

The  butcher  enjoys  the  verve  of  raw  life, 

Not  in  the  attorney's  rooms  does  this  flow. 

Two  meals  a  day  the  workman  cannot  earn. 
He  dare  not  bear  the  burden  of  a  wife; 
All  the  same  his  life-long  heart-scorching  sighs 
Amass  rebellion's  clouds  in  the  sky. 

New  goods  they  find  in  waters,  hills,  and  mines, 
In  forests  and  soils  they  discover  new  wealth. 
Their  spirits  are  pure,  their  blood  unalloyed. 
They  are  bound  to  generate  novel  worlds. 


21 


LIVING 

No  such  thing  as  religion 

Has  ever  existed  on  earth; 

It  is  the  ways  and  means  of  living 

That  weaklings  religion  call. 

What  the  mighty  enjoy  today 
Is  tomorrow  principles  named  ; 
Do  masters  ever  follow  rules? 
Laws  guide  but  apprentice-work. 

To  save  one's  life  one  has  recourse 
To  tiger's  leaps  or  snake's  zigzags ; 
The  hero's  movements  press  and  crush, 
Which  child  of  man  not  a  hero  is? 

Man  that  is  man  is  bound  to  break 
And  demolish  barriers  old  ; 
All  human  blood,  no  matter  whose, 
Seeks  to  challenge  the  questions  closed. 

Life  I  know,  It  is  human  heart. 
It  smells  flesh,  and  is  streams  of  blood  , 
No  faiths  and  morals  it  cares  for. 
It  loves  fresh  youth's  creative  urge. 


TRUTH  IN  ART 

To  diverse  melodies  they  tune  their  songs, 
Could  all  these  strains  ever  appeal  to  your  ears? 
Varied  steps  you  try  in  your  rounds  of  dance. 
Do  all  these  find  an  echo  in  my  heart  ? 

Jealousy  and  enmity  he  has  not  felt, 

The  world's  ways  are  thus  unknown  to  his  mind  ; 

You  have  not  tasted  the  mystery  of  love, 

So  eyeless  you  rove  about  on  the  earth. 

Intoxicated  with  liquor  I  live, 
Some  men  are  warned  to  self-control  by  this ; 
Others  there  are  who  believe  that  with  wine 
I  have  expanded  the  bounds  of  my  soul. 

The  miner  cares  for  the  stones  in  mountains, 
But  you  are  there  in  search  of  drugs  or  birds; 
I  seek  responses  from  mimosa  plants, 
His  heart  is  bound  to  the  engine  of  steam. 

You  are  enlarging  the  rights  of  the  poor, 
The  freedom  of  slaves  engages  his  mind ; 
One  woman  loves  the  husband  as  her  god. 
Another  calls  wift'iood  a  slavery  old. 

Destruction's  easy  way  seems  in  your  eyes 
What  I  have  created  for  mankind's  good ; 
You  are  as  great  a  critic  of  life  as  I, 
Only  you  and  I  agree  to  diiier. 

Life's  experiences  of  all  of  us 
Are  true  to  our  individual  selves; 
Art,  science,  philosophy  are  thus  born 
To  declare  only  those  personal  truths. 
23 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  PARIAH 

Not  in  a  day  have  you  acquired 
Wisdom  or  wealth  and  skill  or  strength, 
Not  in  a  life-time  have  you  built  up 
The  family's  name  or  prestige  of  clan. 

Of  character,  learning  and  riches 
Your  forefathers  the  foundations  laid ; 
You  look  immense  and  big  no  doubt, 
But  on  your  ancestors'  shoulders. 
And  like  money  secure  in  safety  vaults 
Virtues  are  yours  by  accident  of  birth ! 

No  past  tradition  have  we,  no  forbears, 
No  stories  narrating  family  deeds ; 
No  relatives  and  kinsfolk  are  our  pride, 
No  distinguished  house  does  our  conduct  set; 
No  sense  of  shame  therefore  is  born  with  us, 
Nor  care  we  what  we  omit  or  commit. 

The  A,  B,  C,  we  are  but  commencing, 
The  first  steps  of  a  history  we  would  lay. 
Our  capital  is  fresh  blood  and  muscles 
And  tlie  experience  of  whole  mankind. 

At  the  zenith  brightly  shines  your  sun, 
We  are  but  at  the  dawn  of  life's  career ; 
No  other  difference  on  earth  is  there 
Between  us  two,  the  risen  and  the  rising. 


24 


UNREST 

Incessant  are  they  in  their  stir  and  toil, 
Ever  their  hearts  burdened  with  cares, 
No  relief  from  fatigue  do  they  enjoy, 
They  never  know  the  taste  of  peace. 

Sharp  are  their  chins,  and  their  lips  strongly  set, 
Their  muscles  bear  the  message  of  life. 
Figures  of  determination  they  look. 
Their  faces  aglow  as  sunlight. 

Ever  do  their  large  penetrating  eyes 
Brightly  burn  with  yearnings  acute. 
No  sooner  is  one  craving  satisfied 
Than  another  springs  up  fierce. 

Their  spirits  lose  all  zest  and  briskness 

As  their  efforts  achieve  success. 

Only  then  do  they  feel  the  freshness  of  youth 

When  there  are  chances  of  defeat. 

The  austere,  the  rugged,  the  difficult, 
And  all  that  which  is  not  to  be. 
Are  to  them  the  sweetest  inviting  tasks 
And  whet  their  apnetites  the  best. 

Old  jurisdictions  they  would  relinquish 
And  win  spheres  of  influence  new ; 
Commodities  stale  but  by  even  a  day 
Are  apt  to  nauseate  their  souls. 

Unrest  is  holy,  worry  is  divine, 
Failure  is  God's  own  element; 
In  paradise  do  they  certainly  live 
Whose  longings  never  reach  an  end. 
25 


THE  CREED  OF  POVERTY 

Unhoused  exposed  I  live  in  my  damp  hut, 
In  through  its  roof  the  sun  peeps  and  clouds  pour; 
Two  boys,  three  girls,  and  man  and  wife,  we  here 
Are  huddled  close  as  the  cattle  in  farms. 

The  children  run  naked,  myself  half-clad. 
The  women,  in  rags,  have  but  one  full  dress; 
Hunger  we   check  with   coarse  grains  and   leaves 

boiled, 
Like  swine  we  swallow  food  from  earthen  pots. 

Two  full  meals  on  one  day  ?    That  is  a  tale 
Which  we  all  remember  the  year  throughout; 
The  winter  we  pass  in  beds  of  straw  and  hay, 
And  wallow  in  the  mire  during  the  rains. 

To  see  a  silver  coin  in  others'  hands 
Is  a  matter  of  good  luck  in  our  lives ; 
And  from  the  streets  in  fear  our  children  see 
How  the  inside  of  a  school-building  looks. 

Poor  1  am,  not  Hindu  or  Christian, 
Poverty  is  my  description  complete ; 
Poor  I  am,  not  above  the  beast-line  yet, 
I  am  a  soul-less  being,  wheresoever  born 


36 


INSPIRATION 

Only  once  have  I  had  a  drink  of  strength, 

And  that  draught  has  given  birth  to  all  my  madness; 

In  one  sip  ha\e  I  drawn  the  infinite  soul, 

And  this  has  brought  the  universe  under  me. 

In  one  moment  was  the  door  opened  quietly, 
Forthwith  the  heart  was  a  fount  of  endless  speech ; 
A  random  gust  indeed  touched  me  into  bloom, 
But  on  all  sides  the  stream  of  fragrance  rushed. 

The  gift  came  to  me  while  I  careless  played, 
Who  knew  then  that  it  was  a  treasure  priceless? 
iV'Iy  manliness,  energy,  vital  joy. 
All  these  have  been  born  of  that  unsought  bliss. 

Trifles  make  man ;   in  the  common  lies  the  great ; 
In  every  moment's  flesh  and  blood  I  am  a  god. 


a; 


DEATH 

Every  moment  I  do  my  duty, 

Every  moment  I  taste  my  life  and  youth, 

Such  a  moment  animated  with  life 

Should  be  the  time  for  embracing  my  death. 

No  recollections  from  the  past  I  nurse, 

1  count  no  dreams  of  a  blissful  future, 

Of  a  life-in-the-present  full  of  work 

I  want  to  make  my  death  a  common  act. 

When  to  die?    Then,  when  life's  fresh  blood  would 

flow 
As  vigorously  as  now  that  I  live, — 
Then,  when  the  wish  for  self-assertion 
From  no  signs  of  waning  suffers  eclipse, — 
Then,  when  the  power  to  enjoy  the  world 
Would  in  plenitude  maintain  its  course, — 
Then,   when   the  cogitation  of  weaklings 
As  to  pros  and  cons  divides  not  the  soul. 

Not  like  a  dead  animal  I  would  die, — 

Not  like  one  whose  heart  hides  no  cosmic  heat ; 

My  last  testament  I  would  write  at  death 

Myself,  to  declare  the  glories  of  the  earth: 

"It  is  energy  that  is  life,  its  forms 

Craving,  lordship,  love,  warfare,  defeat ; 

This  ambrosia  is  not  to  be  had 

Except  on  this  earth  of  mud,  trees,  and  stones." 

If  God    there  be,  and  if  it  be  His  might 
To  satisfy  man's  prayers  and  demands, 
And  if  death  is  bound  to  come, — I  would  pray 
For  a  death  full  of  madness,  unrest,  life. 

28 


THE  MIND  OF  THE  MASTER 

Offsprings  of  cats  and  dogs  are  they,  these  slaves. 
Or  but  moving  instruments  and  machines; 
Human  beings'  muscles  and  joints  are  not  theirs, 
Nor  have  they  the  blood  that  nourishes  men. 

I  am  not  ashamed  to  undress  myself 
In  the  presence  of  groups  of  living  tools. 
One  need  be  decent  only  to  those  that  are  men, 
But  the  slaves  were  never  as  human  known. 

False  and  cowardly  are  slaves,  mean  traitors. 
Immoral  their  women,  households  obscene ; 
Darlings    of    slaves?      Eh?      Their    children    and 

homes? 
Their  smiles  and  tears?    Pooh!     Of  these  herds  of 

swine  ? 

Literature  and  fine  arts  among  slaves? 
Did  they  ever  enjoy  humor  and  fun? 
Are  they  not  our  servants  by  Nature  made, 
Hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water? 

Do  slaves  ever  st.aighten  the  bones  of  their  backs 

To  cast  an  upward  glance  into  the  skies? 

Surely  never  can  they  offer  response 

To  the  things  that  make  us  frolic  and  sport. 

Tame  do  they  submit  to  the  masters  today. 
All  their  fathers  must  therefore  have  been  slaves; 
Masters  and  slaves  would  differ  on  the  globe 
As  long  as  the  sun  and  the  moon  shed  light. 


29 


THE  MIND  OF  THE  SLAVE 

Do  my  masters  ever  walk  on  the  ground 

By  moving  their  legs  as  I  do  mine  own  ? 

Do  they  through   their  nostrils  exhale  the  breath, 

The  same  that  ever  comes  out  of  my  lungs? 

Men  in  the  master's  race  are  no  doubt  bold, 
Dutiful,  self-sacrificing,  honest; 
Their  mothers  and  daughters  and  women-folk 
Are  the  sisters  of  Alcestis,  of  course! 

True  love  is  known  to  the  masters  alone, 
The  masters  alone  know  the  art  of  play. 
They  alone  know  how  to  amuse  oneself, 
How  can  we  dead  creatures  of  all  this  know? 

Do  the  masters  ever  shed  tears  of  grief 
Such  as  I  do  under  bitter  restraint? 
Do  they  ever  feel  the  pangs  of  despair 
And  sink  exhausted  into  abysmal  gloom? 

Can  my  masters'  souls  be  ever  debased 
By  meanness,  cowardice,  and  treachery? 
Coarseness,  ribaldry,  license,  lewd  manners, — 
Are  these  ever  to  be  seen  among  them? 

The  flesh  and  blood  of  my  masters'  bodies 
Methinks  is  made  of  some  celestial  stufif; 
The  begetting  of  children  among  their  race 
Is  perhaps  some  super-human  process! 

Like  Heaven's  angels  they  look,  my  masters, 
Not  men  and  women  of  the  earth  are  they ; 
Methinks  there  must  be  something  extra 
In  all  their  pose,  gesture,  movement,  speech, 
30 


THE  GODS 

The  physician's  aid  I  call  for  first, 
Then  to  Mother  Sheetala  do  I  pray ; 
I  bow  down  to  Goddess  Laksmee  of  course, 
But  first  to  farming  and  commerce  I  take. 

My  voice  I  train  for  songs,  hands  for  the  arts, 
And  fingers  and  toes  to  music  and  dance ; 
Long  after,  if  at  all,  I  care  to  know 
How  much  has  Benten  given  me  of  her  skill. 

They  worship  the  Virgin  Mother's  image 
And  shout  loud  to  Jesus  and  the  scheduled  saints; 
But  have  they  not  kept  their  gunpowder  dry 
Before  coming  to  services  and  hymns? 

Do  the  Moslem  man  and  wife  build  their  life 
On  the  votive  oflerings  to  the  Pirs? 
Do  their  laborers  ever  find  the  day's  work 
Accomplished  through  the  verses  of  the  Koran? 

Boats,  junks,  ships,  strong  and  varied  in  forms    ' 
Are  first  built  by  men  to  brave  the  sea-waves; 
Then  is  invoked  the  mercy  of  the  gods, 
Kwan-yin,  Neptune,  Varoon,  Water-Spirit. 

It  is  the  brain  that  makes  man  immortal, 
It  is  by  might  that  man  becomes  a  god ; 
Why  then  has  man  prayed  to  the  gods  evermore? 
Only  because  he  is  modest  at  heart. 

Never  have  the  gods  been  worshipped  by  man ; 
It  is  his  own  power  that  he  adores; 
Man  is  never  the  creation  of  God's, 
God  and  the  gods  are  the  inventions  of  man. 
31 


THE  UNIVERSAL  TOUCHSTONE 

It  is  the  child  that  makes  the  parent  famous, 

The  individual,  the  family; 

It  is  again  the  citizen's  greatness 

That  makes  the  nation  known  throughout  the  world. 

Nobody  cares  to  know  your  name  or  race. 
Your  clan  no  passport  to  your  work  is  held ; 
By  thermometers'  and  stethoscopes'  aid 
You  would  be  sounded  in  every  limb. 

Your  sweat  they  smell,  they  hear  the  pitch  of  youi 

voice. 
Your  legs'  and  arms'  movements  are  counted  sharp, 
Your  teeth  are  being  tested  against  the  stone, 
They  touch  your  saliva  and  taste  your  blood. 

They  apply  the  battery  to  your  breast 
To  find  the  course  of  your  nerval  vigor ; 
And  by  tlie  magnet  they  examine  you  , 

As  to  whose  attraction  governs  your  soul. 

The  testing  laboratory  is  one, 

The  test  is  the  same  for  all  men  on  earth  ; 

All  individuals  by  this  test 

Set  the  life's  standard  for  the  human  race. 


32 


THE  POET'S  MANIFESTO 

It  was  but  once  that  grief  attacked  my  heart 
And  my  eyes  were  flooded  with  streams  of  tears ; 
Yet  their  marks  on  the  pages  of  the  world 
Would  be  read  by  generations  of  men. 

Once  did  joyous  smile  blossom  on  my  lips, 
Yet  on  all  lands  has  its  lustre  been  cast ; 
Once  did  an  adventure  possess  my  soul, 
Yet  that  fire  would  energize  thousand  minds. 

Unrequited  my  love,  I  live  forlorn, 
That  pang  has  purged  the  world's  youths  and  maid- 
ens; 
Realized  is  my  dream,  my  heart  at  rest, 
A  herald  of  peace  I  am  for  all  times. 

Why  do  you  call  my  experience  mine? 
Is  it  not  the  life  that  everybody  lives? 
The  eternal  man's  joys  and  sighs  inspire 
Even  the  humblest  person's  hopes  and  despairs. 

I  may  have  rebelled  ag'iinst  creeds  and  codes, 
But  man  am  I  of  flesh  and  blood  like  you ; 
Therefore  my  songs  would  into  crystals  shape 
Theories  of  life  among  diverse  men. 


33 


THE  HOME 

One  who  has  made  me  one's  own  is  my  home ; 

My  home  is  one  who  rules  ever  my  heart ; 

Brick  walls  or  straw-thatch'd  roofs  do  not  make  a 

home; 
The  home  is  not  great  for  its  garden  or  court  yard. 

Down  whose  eyes'-eaves  tears  roll  in  my  troubles, 
Whose  eyes  in  my  happiness  brightly  beam 
Even  more  self-forgetful  than  mine, 
Whose  breath  energizes  my  life-blood's  race, 

Whose  vital  touch  makes  me  enrich  the  world 
With  my  personality's  hundred  gifts, 
All  whose  steps,  besides,  are  full  of  myself. 
Whose  god  I  am,  whose  friend,  parent,  guide  I, — 

That  person,  that  heart  is  my  happy  nest ; 
The  home  is  not  mere  stone,  mortar,  villa,  cot. 

One  who  the  heart-walls  of  heaven-on-earth 
Has  cemented  with  the  blood  of  human  breast, 
That  angel,  guard,  brother,  wife,  husband,  child 
Lives  in  this  world  under  the  name  of  home. 


34 


SELF-EXPRESSION 

Never  do  I  think  of  serving  mankind, 
Yet  surely  a  social  servant  I  am ; 
Never  do  I  speak  of  the  fatherland, 
Yet  I  am  a  genuine  patriot. 

My  brain  is  pregnant  with  thoughts  and  fancies, 

Great,  mediocre,  trivial,  or  wild ; 

Impossible  it  is  to  live  in  peace 

While  they  teem  imprisoned  within  the  skull. 

These  I  have  lived  up  through  fights,  visions,  sighs. 
Poverty,  smiles,  despairs,  dance,  tears,  what  not; 
Acquisitions  they  are  through  my  own  work, 
Sickness,  worry,  sacrifice,  enjoyment. 

Of  all  these  I  would  unburden  myself, 
Whatever  be  the  medium  I  get; — 
Laboratory,  studio,  paper. 
Music  chamber,  writing  table,  clay  or  stone. 

I  can  but  express  myself,  my  weakness. 

My  animality,  my  strength  divine  ; 

My  forms  would  l:ad  some  to  sink  in  despair. 

But  inspire  others  soldiers  to  become. 

Only  two  functions  my  life  has  known: — 
I  can  love  and  I  can  hate  and  thus  be  man ; 
This  experience  brings  the  human  touch 
To  the  eternal  problems  of  the  world. 

You  depend  on  energy,  he  on  faith, 
I  believe  in  persons,  in  parties  they; 
You  live  in  your  own  way,  I  live  in  mine. 
Yet  I  learn  from  you,  and  the  world  from  me. 
35 


HUMAN 

I  was  born  on  this  earth  with  limbs  of  flesh  and 

blood, 
No  greater  faith  I  know  than  enjoying  the  world ; 
It  is  me  that  the  world  wants,  and  I  want  it  too, 
Without  me  the  earth  would  like  one  blindfolded 

roll. 

Discipline,  restraint,  and  self-control  are  but  means 
And  instruments  my  energy  to  multiply ; 
It  is  their  strength  that  makes  a  hero  of  myself 
To  lord  it  o'er  the  glories  of  this  blissful  world. 

Shapes  and  forms  of  earthly  things,  and  diverse 
tastes. 

Sounds  that  people  the  sky,  and  smells  ensouling 
the  air, 

And  touch  that  imparts  electric  sparks, — all  com- 
bine 

To  animate  my  life  and  its  career  prolong. 

Deathless  I  live  as  long  as  I  quickened  am ; 
Come  ye,  storm  and  stress,  ever  fresh  and  novel- 
bred! 
Let  blood  ebullient  my  body  irrigate, 
And  the  soul  dance  attendance  on  my  senses  all. 

Millions  of  creeds  and  morals  I  would  create 
From  my  limitless  exuberance  when  my  life  is  full; 
And  the  universe's  beauteous  self  would  move 
To  espouse  me  as  her  beloved  god  adored. 


36 


TO  FIND  YOUR  RELIGION 

The  beats  of  your  heart  I  would  count 
With  my  ears  on  your  breast ; 
And  I  would  feel  your  pulse  to  see 
The  dance-steps  of  your  blood. 

After  fasts,  I  see,  your  appetite 
Sets  your  blood  on  quick  march ; 
And  hearty  meals  energize  it 
All  over  your  limbs. 

Strong-muscled  you  are  working  hard 
And  evoking  the  blood's  thirst; 
Very  well !  But  sound  sleep  would  quench  it 
And  raise  its  hopes  afresh. 

Have  not  the  deaths  of  friends  and  parents 
Brought  forth  floods  from  your  eyes? 
But  has  not  your  waterish  blood 
Been  burnt  red  again  by  grief? 

How  oft  have  you  laughed  mouthful 
And  danced  to  heart's  content! 
Have  not  the  crystals  of  joyous  blood 
Warmed  then  your  lips  and  arms? 

A  home  you  have  given  the  homeless. 
Life  to  the  dying  people ; 
Has  not  their  gratitude  unlocked 
The  soft  blood-gates  of  your  heart? 

Your  religion,  therefore,  is 
Whatever  moves  your  blood  ; 
Tears,  smiles,  work,  play,  eating,  sleeping, 
Gifts,  prayers,  love,  and  hatred. 
37 


THE  CLIMACTERIC 

No  fire  hadst  thou  within  thy  breast, 
No  words  were  on  thy  lips, 
Thirst  thine  eyes  did  never  have. 
Nor  hungry  didst  thou  feel. 

Madly  did  not  thy  hopes  awake, 
Not  wild  thy  heart  did  dance, 
Longings  did  not  lead  thee  to  tears. 
Memories  brought  no  smiles. 

Wholly  insensible  lay  thy  limbs 
Inert,   irresponsive. 
The  petals  of  thy  soul  did  sleep 
Ever  by  night  and  day. 

A  revolution  has  set  in  in  thy  frame 
As  near  thee  I  have  come, 
Right  and  left  has  each  drop  of  thy  blood 
Moved  to  choose  its  own  mate. 

The  chambers  of  thine  inner  self 
Are  now  live  with  sweet  dreams, 
Overflooded  now  is  thy  soul 
And  inundates  the  world. 

Thy  beauty  I  have  induced  into  bloom, 
I  have  given  thee  thy  youth's  core ; 
The  pole-star  thou  hast  now  obtained 
To  the  magnet  of  thy  life. 

Deep  determined  thou  walkest  now 
With  charmed  body  and  mind ; 
To  move  on  earth  by  my  impulse 
Thou  wert  asleep  thus  long. 
38 


THE  CRY  OF  THE  POOR 

Measure  me  not  by  the  standard  of  man, 
The  poor  are  human  beings  only  by  voice; 
A  full  man's  limbs  you  see  on  me  no  doubt, 
But  they  do  not  carry  the  fourth  of  a  soul. 

You  move  on  earth  alive,  my  life  is  death. 
My  wife  and  children  make  no  home  for  me ; 
Your  fancies  create  vast  worlds  in  your  minds, 
Thereon  you  model  your  family  and  home. 

My  breast  is  dark,  my  heart  devoid  of  fire. 
Blindfolded  my  eyes,  my  ears  stopped  with  wax. 
To  tempests  my  neck  like  weak  trees  I  bend. 
What  makes  you  laugh  and  cry  finds  me  like  stones. 

Mistake  me  not  for  man,  then,  though  human-born, 
Poor  ignorant  folks  swell  not  mankind's  force. 


39 


THE  PA  TRIE 

"It  was  in  this  land  that  I  was  born, 
I  wish,  O  Lord,  I  could  die  in  this  land !" 
Is  not  this  the  burden  of  national  hymns? 
Could  then  any  soul  like  the  sky  expand? 

I  am  not  responsible  for  my  own  birth, 
I  have  no  time  to  reflect  about  death, 
I  want  to  live  in  an  immortal  work, 
Be  it  ever  anywhere  on  this  earth. 

The  land  of  one's  birth  no  paradise  is, 
It  is  but  the  Chance-given  inn  for  the  being; 
The  true  paradise  is  the  field  of  your  work. 
That  is  the  world  whose  creator  you  are. 

Dost  thou  call  thyself  man?    Surely  then 

Thou   canst  laugh  and  weep  when  thou   touchest 

man; 
Thus  enlarged  thou,  thy  patrie  is  enlarged 
By  imbibing  the  life  of  all  mankind. 

Let  energy  always  in  volume  grow 

And  always  assume  diverse  novel  forms, — 

No  other  wish  does  Nature  prompt ; 

Who  would  bury  oneself  in  a  single  well? 

My  soul  is  not  restless  for  here  or  there, 
I  feel  strong  if  my  mind  is  fixed  somehow. 
My  home  I  make  wherever  I  lay  my  heart. 
And  where  else  is  the  patrie  but  in  the  home? 


40 


THE   ARTIST 

Figures  of  clay  or  of  bronze  thou  hast  made, 
Thou  hast  exhibited  scenes  on  the  stage ; 
The  baby  sees  them  from  its  mother's  arms 
And  smiles  and  dances  to  senseless  content. 

Breezes  of  hopes  thy  lyrics  have  stirred  up 
In  the  adolescent's  ripening  mind, 
The  limbs  of  the  youth  thou  hast  inspired 
With  ambition's  fire  and  love's  superb  might. 

I  know  not  what  is  the  life  thou  livest, 
Perchance  differently  keyed  from  my  own; 
Still  in  thy  melodies  have  I  found  oft 
The  strains  that  I  seek  to  keep  me  alive. 

What  is  thy  faith?    What  thy  dogmas  by  birth? 
Like  poles  asunder  are  we  in  views? 
Yet  the  shapes  and  colors  thou  hast  brought  forth 
Embody  the  soul  that  pushes  me  on. 

Have  I  been  irresponsive  to  thy  call? 

What  then?  Thousand  others  have  heard  thv  voice; 

Immortal  thou,  O  creator,  among  men 
If  sincerely  thou  hast  grieved  and  joyed. 

Seeds  numberless  thou  hast  sown  broadcast. 
Could  all  be  retained  in  a  single  spot? 
I  may  have  rejected  some  of  thy  gifts, 
But  others  have  gone  mad  to  get  the  same. 

Where  is  the  person  that  does  not  create  ? 
Which  man  or  woman  serves  not  social  ends? 
Each  creator  is  a  preacher  to  others, 
All  art  is  born  a  minister  to  life. 
41 


THE  INDIVIDUAL 

Be  not  anxious  for  the  party  or  group, 
Sects  and  societies  are  formed  of  themselves; 
People  care  for  individuals  alone, — 
Such  as  ever  their  self-assertion  seek. 

The  band  can  be  raised  in  a  moment's  time. 
But  hard  to  build  up  are  the  unit  heads ; 
Such  units  in  thousands  does  the  world  demand 
As  by  their  head  and  hands  can  draw  all  minds. 

The  life  of  Chaldaean  Ur  they  must  live. 
They  must  suck  dry  Hellas  and  China's  lore, 
"Yamato  damashii"  they  must  absorb 
And  Eur-America's  most  recent  finds. 

Their  own  personalities  they  would  display. 

Not   by  their  own   friends   would    they   sit   to   be 

judged, 
The  world-standard  would  be  their  power's  gauge, 
Nursed  on  all  earth  they  would  serve  their  sects  the 

best. 

Let  such  units  rise  to  work  even  now 
With  creative  determination  high, 
A  new  order  would  be  evolved  at  once 
Out  of  the  present  sects,  parties,  and  states. 


42 


THE  SONNET 

I  may  be  on  my  walk  among  the  trees, 
Or  perhaps  jostling  a  crowd  of  men ; 
Out  of  the  movements  of  my  swinging  limbs 
Emerges  at  once  a  sonnet  into  being. 

Or  while  in  the  room  my  heart's  pump  is  moved 
By  the  lever  worked  from  regions  far  off, 
Sonnets  in  clusters  have  their  birth  forthwith 
In  the  sweat  of  the  brow  and  tears  of  eyes. 

Or  a  vision  I  have  while  asleep. 
Or  perchance  a  memorj'  haunts  me  on; 
Groups  of  sonnets  dissolved  in  vital  blood 
Quickly  into  crystals  arrange  themselves. 

The  sunshine  and  moonlight  of  a  moment, 
An  instant's  hopes  and  despairs  deeply  felt. 
Every  glance  and  every  footstep, — 
Are  the  dales  where  the  sonnet-spirit  lives. 

But  not  a  mere  sum  of  moments  is  your  life, 
A  geometric  progression  it  is ; 
Sonnet  to  sonnet  you  may  ever  add, 
Life  would  still  be  greater  than  all  told. 

I  begin  my  laughter  even  while  in  tears, 
A  complex  riddle  within  me  I  nurse; 
This  is  why  the  soul  cherishes  epics 
As  Virgil,  Kalidas,  Dante,  Milton  wrote. 


43 


BREAK,  BREAK,  BREAK 

The  sun  was  broken  to  bring  forth  the  earth, 
And  the  broken  earth  soon  begat  the  moon, 
The  hills  were  shot  up  by  soil-breaking  fire. 
And  streams  have  broken  the  barriers  of  hills. 

Minerals  decomposed  form  plant  life, 
Plants  are  pulverized  to  yield  animal  heat ; 
The  past  was  dissolved  to  bring  in  the  present, 
Within  the  present  the  future  struggles  forth. 

Every  person  is  a  plural  being. 
Duties  and  ideals  break  by  moments. 
Human  life  is  revolution  itself. 
It  does  not  understand  a  status  quo. 

Marks  of  breakings,  crevices,  erosions, 
Architecture  the  world's  self  on  all  hands; 
Never  final,  ever-failing  is  this  earth 
Whether  of  senseless  or  animate  beings. 

Where  are  Kapil  and  Aristotle  now? 
Even  Kepler  and  Darwin  are  fading  fast. 
And  radium's  energy  is  bidding  fair 
To  make  the  coal  age  a  thing  of  the  past. 

What  is  progress  but  revolt  and  failure? 
The  real  heroes  are  those  that  fail ; 
Endless  existence  belongs  to  that  race 
That  is  not  deterred  by  the  fear  of  defeat. 


44 


THE  SOUL 

For  life  I  crave,  I  want  life  for  ever, 

I  want  to  augment  the  power  to  live ; 

Through  my  own  strength  I  would  live  a  deathless 

life. 
And  my  salvation  I  would  win  by  my  might. 

My  demands  and  earnings,  force  and  commands, 
The  rights  and  enjoyments  that  make  my  life, — 
I  mix  them  all  with  flesh  and  blood  like  beasts, 
But  never  a  beast  all  through  I  become. 

My  eyes  are  charmed  by  beauteous  forms. 
But  formless  beauty  lives  behind  the  eyes; 
I  am  happy  when  I  lord  it  over  men. 
But  do  I  not  then  taste  a  bit  of  God's  life? 

My  heat  has  warmed  up  the  dispirited  dead, 
Awakened  the  cowards,  and  given  them  aims; 
But  beneath  my  heart's  fire  and  might  of  arms 
The  unseen  Phalgoo  of  ideals  flows. 

Ever  through  the  senses'  windows  I  peep  out, 
But  do  I  not  perceive  through  the  super-sense-Me  ? 
Right  and  wrong  I  base  on  profit  and  loss. 
But  does  not  duty  ever  prompt  my  heart? 

Love  lives  in  my  animal  limbs;  the  flesh 
Draws  flesh  to  sweeten  and  strengthen  the  life; 
But  limbless  is  love,  it  unfleshes  human  beings, 
And  to  one-in-tAvo  adds  the  spirit  of  the  world. 

Unbodied,  unmeasured,  unknown  something 
Pervades  my  blood ;  would  you  call  it  the  soul  ? 
I  know  it  as  my  fort,  the  cell  of  will 
And  power,  wherefrom  I  govern  all  earth. 
45 


Ill 

SIGHTS  AND  SOUNDS 


ON  THE  HILL-TOP 

So  I  climbed  the  hill  and  stood  on  its  crown, — 
There  was  the  mid-day  sun  over  my  head ; 
Friendless  I  had  traversed  the  mountain  paths 
But  came  into  a  home  of  high  trees  brave. 

The  roots  of  immortal  pines  formed  thereon 
The  ribs  of  the  breast  of  my  hilly  host ; 
The  bright  sun  was  pouring  its  juice  of  warmth 
Through  the  openings  of  evergreen  roofs. 

Thin  snowy  clouds  were  floating  brisk  and  fast 

Across  the  deep  blue  body  of  the  sky ; 

Far  off,  a  solitary  cloud-let  sat 

To  enjoy  the  peace  of  a  lonesome  peak. 

Single  soul  I  swam  in  the  sea  of  trees ; 
The  forest  spoke  in  the  ocean's  deep  voice  ; 
Diverse  birds  chirped  a  symphony  chordless; 
A  rook's  crj'  sawed  the  frozen  silence  of  space. 

My  heart  was  swelling  as  I  greeted  was 
With  the  soft  kisses  of  the  ozoned  breeze, 
And  I  was  spurred  by  the  tall  pines  that  urged: 
"Dare  the  skies,  or  die  a  lifeless  death!" 

Down  below,  the  bluish  bay  bore  its  freight 
Of  little  barges  such  as  fishers  use, 
And  I  felt  I  had  climbed  a  height  indeed. 
But,  alas,  the  highest  was  yet  to  come! 


49 


ASSAOUAN  ON  THE  NILE 

A  desert  of  golden  sands  on  all  sides 
Washed  bj'  the  burning  sunshine  from  on  high, 
The   thread    of   silver   stream    pulsates   slow-paced, 
Assaouan  here  guards  the  gates  of  Egypt. 

Black  peaks  are  peeping  from  the  river-bed. 
The  unclouded  sky  sheds  its  blue  downwards, 
Date  palms  green  the  oasis  on  the  banks, 
Little  sails  on  the  barges  whiten  the  scene. 

Hill-environed  regions  of  lifeless  waste, 
Between  Libyan  and  Mokattam  heights, 
Mark  off  the  wealth  of  Egyptian  soils 
From  the  arid  rocks  of  Nubia's  north. 

Here  are  the  quarries  of  the  granite  stone 
That  sculptors  of  the  ancient  pharaohs  worked. 
From  here  the  boatmen  carried  their  art-loads 
Long  down  the  Nile  four  or  five  hundred  miles. 

Here  were  carved  the  noble  statues  and  sphinxes 
For  which  Ammon's  temple  at  Karnak  is  famed, 
And  the  obelisk  at  Heliopolis 
Where  Plato  studied  the  mysteries  of  life. 

Makers  of  Amenheteps,  both  kings  and  gods! 
Builders  of  pyramids  and  hill-cave  tombs! 
I  see  your  half-done  images  on  rocks. 
Come  and  finish  them,  I  would  talk  with  you. 


SO 


THE  LINE  OF  PYRAMIDS 

At  Gizeh  stands  the  imperial  tomb, 
The  pyramid  that  Herodotus  saw, 
Herein  lay  the  sarcophagus  of  stone 
Bearing  the  mummy  and  jewels  untold. 

The  builders  of  pyramids,  were  they  men? 
Could  I  have  loved  them  if  I  had  been  then? 
Could  they  call  us  their  own  if  they  appeared  again? 
In  our  modern  songs  would  they  find  their  strain? 

Five  thousand  years  ago  they  lived  and  died. 
But  like  the  mighty  Tangs  and  the  Caesars  proud, 
Patrons  of  letters  and  warriors  bold, 
Samoodragooptas  and  Charlemagnes  all. 

They  knew  to  organize  for  twenty  years 

A  hundred  thousand  masons  for  public  works; 

Not  in  an  age  this  genius  expired. 

From  dynasty  to  dynasty  it  flowed. 

How  did  they  live?    Come  to  Sakkara  old. 
And  see  the  serapeum  of  Ptah  God's  Bull, 
Or  the  mastaba  grave  of  Mera  Lord, 
Or  at  Der-el-bahree  the  terraced  shrine. 

Enter  the  chambers  and  see  the  paintings 
Drawn  in  relief  on  walls,  roofs,  and  pillars ; 
Energy  personified  their  buildings  are. 
Simple  grace  lives  in  their  colored  work; 


Si 


I  see  the  hospitals  for  animals  sick 
And  traders  bringing  Hindu  goods  from  Punt, 
The  women  are  at  their  amorous  dance, 
Priests  are  sacrificing  bulls  to  the  gods. 

Read  the  inscription  at  that  grandee's  feet: 

"A  virtuous  husband,  orphans'  father, 

An  officer  dutiful,  just  and  strict;" 

Shakespeare  would  have  sung:  "Here  was  a  man!' 


52 


THE  DELTA 

Between  Sahara  and  Arab  sands 
A  freak  of  Nature  is  Lower  Egypt, 
Plenty  of  fertility's  chosen  land, 
Oasised  in  an  ocean  of  deserts. 

Cloudless  the  skies  are  ever  dry, 
The  Nile  contributes  its  wealth  of  silt, 
The  cool  Mediterranean  cheers  with  breeze 
The  gardens  and  orchards  of  hundred  hues. 

Mulberries,  there,  hide  merchants  on  camels, 
Black  soils  of  cotton,  or  yellow  wheat,  here  ; 
And  groves  of  bananas,  sugar-canes,  palms 
Island  the  square  gray  huts  of  sun-baked  mud. 

A  real  Goshen  is  this  deltaic  plot, 

The  home  of  muscular  strength,  health,  and  joy ; 

Tall   Moslem  peasants  "galabea"-clad 

Are  quick  in  response  as  their  comrades  call. 

Far  in  the  south  the  Abyssinian  hills 
Wrest  the  vapor  from  Indian  monsoons, 
Soils  for  Eg\'pt  ari  borne  with  the  stream 
That  flows  therefrom  along  a  bed  not  wide. 

This  is  the  country  of  all  mankind's  morn. 
Eternal  link  between  the  East  and  West, 
The  school  that  started  the  isles  of  Greece  on ; 
Historic  capitals  were  founded  here: 

Memphis,  the  oldest  city  of  the  world. 
Near  where  Mohammed  Ali's  marble  mosque  stands, 
And  Alexander's  port,  with  museums  great 
And  the  library  that  the  Christians  burnt. 
53 


MY  NIGHT 

If  the  night  is  dark  and  clouds  rare 
I  look  for  comets  in  the  sky ; 
Long,  small,  medium  tails  they  display, 
No  matter  what  may  be  the  month. 

Only  the  nebulae  I  seek, 
The  well-formed  stars  I  pursue  not ; 
To  the  right  and  left  my  eyes  turn 
And  fall  at  last  on  forces  new. 

Halley  comes  in  seventy-six  years 
With  grand  disaster  every  time ; 
I  am  happy  if  I  can  find 
Even  those  that  commonplace  are. 

I  see  the  small  ones  diverted 
By  attractions  of  masses  big; 
While  afloat  in  the  eastern  skies 
Perforce  they  are  shunted  aside. 

But  it  is  these  lesser  comets 
That  raise  problems  complex  and  hard ; 
One  moment  they  live,  but  compel 
Me  to  calculate  night  and  day. 

At  times  do  meteors  burn  the  air 
And  suddenly  pierce  the  void  ; 
Their  flash  survives  not  the  first  glance, 
But  of  their  comrades  they  foretell. 


54 


KOREA  IN  RAINS 

It  is  pitch  dark  in  Korea  today, 
The  sky  is  pouring  itself  out  in  full, 
As  in  Bengal  the  July  rains  deplete 
The  higher  regions  of  their  vapor  wealth. 

The  mountain  sides  have  been  mantled  over 
By  a  panoply  of  clouds  thin  but  as  mists, 
Million  drops  are  bombarding  them  quick 
Shot  in  succession  as  if  through  a  sieve. 

Hardly  visible  are  the  meadovrs  at  hand, 
Still  at  their  work  are  women  in  the  fields. 
Streams   are   running  down   the   cottage   eaves, 
The  waters  gush  swift  through  ditches  and  drains. 

Water  has  swallowed  the  foot  of  the  hills. 
The  cultivated  plots  are  flooded  deep ; 
Only  as  the  train  makes  way  through  tunnels 
Does  the  rule  of  rains  in  abeyance  seem. 

Rivers  of  lac  or  vermilion  red 
Seem  on  all  sides  in  ^tters  to  flow, 
Or  some  animal  arteries  alive 
Look  dissected  to  exhibit  the  blood. 

Or,  currents  of  molten  fire  are  they? 
Stained  red  is  the  green  vegetation,  too ; 
Fair  Korea  with  her  rich  fields  of  rice 
Has  a  feast  of  crimson  during  the  rains. 


<55 


MOUNT  TAI-SHAN 

This  is  Tai-shan,  the  holiest 
Of  China's  sacred  mountains  five, 
With  pines  and  "lotus  flower  peak," 
Where  memories  of  ages  dwell. 

Here,  as  the  "Shooking"  story  tells. 
Emperor  Shoon,  of  peasants  born. 
The  model  son  and  model  king. 
Offered  sacrifice  to  Heaven. 

Those  were  the  days  of  patriarchs 

And  the  rude  beginnings  of  things, 

Of  faiths  and  songs  that  enshrined   the  hills, 

Olympian  and  Vindhyan  tops. 

Long  have  its  precipices  borne 

The  footsteps  of  devoted  men ; 

Paupers,  princes,  sages,  poets 

Have  heard  its  falls  and  sung  its  scenes. 

Confucius,  the  sage,  who  taught 
The  "Tao"  of  "superior  men," 
Was  here  entranced  as  he  beheld 
The  waves  of  peaks  under  the  sky. 

You  see  that  spot,  and  read  his  words : 
"Oh,  how  small  is  the  world  below!" 
The  spot  and  the  words  are  holy  yet 
As  Sinai  and  its  Mosaic  law. 


56 


Not  the  modest  pilgrims  alone, 
It    has  drawn  the  ambitious,  too ; 

To  rival  Shoon  came  Tsin  Hwang-ti  here, 
From  whom  the  land  is  "China"  called. 

Builder  of  the  Great  Wall,  he  bound 
All  the  feudal  states  into  one. 
And  with  Napoleonic  might 
Rang  out  the  old,  enforced  the  new. 


AT  NANKING 

The  clouds  have  covered  the  sunshine  of  morn ; 
A  grass-framed   picture  seems  the  old  town-wall; 
The  swift  Yang-tsze  carries  its  life  of  blood ; 
And  hillocks  on  both  sides  are  capped  in  blue. 

Junks  with  white  sails  pass  up  and  down  in  rows; 
Masts  of  boats  have  forested  the  canal ; 
A  Delhi  or  Florence  is  here  on  view 
With  palaces,  pagodas,  parks,  and  tombs. 

Queen  of  China's  rice-zone  and  lotus-wealth, 
Maker  of  poets,  painters,  craftsmen  skilled, 
Imperial  city,  the  elders'  pride, 
Nucleus  also  of  republic  young! 


57 


IN  NORTH  CHINA 

Muddier,  yellower  than  the  Yang-tsze, 
The  Hvvang-ho  pursues  its  destructive  course 
Like  the  turbulent  Padma  of  Bengal; 
And  beyond,  new  vistas  open  all  round. 

Stalwart  and  warlike  the  people  I  see, 
No  more  the  sweet  looks  of  the  Southerners  small, 
Cotton  soils  and  dry  fields  of  wheat  and  corn 
Accost  me  in  the  place  of  lakes  and  rice. 

The  peasants  drive  the  plows  with  donkeys'  aid, 
Ill-clad  they  toil  under  the  burning  sun, 
Cottages  with  walls  and  roofs  made  of  mud 
House  big  families  of  a  dozen  or  more. 

Here  is  the  region  of  Cathay's  dawn, — 
Shantung,  the  land  of  Confucian  fame, 
Shensi  and  Honan  with  capitals  old. 
And  Peking,  the  city  that  Kubla  built. 


^ 


AMONG   ANIMALS 

The  woods  draw  me  by  their  animal  crowd, 
Are  not  the  animals  quite  human  born? 
Among  their  race  I  find  myself  at  home, 
In  them  I  see  the  doubles  of  mankind. 

Are  you  not  crooked  like  the  wily  snake? 
And  like  the  tiger  a  ferocious  beast? 
How  oft  do  we  pick  the  quarrels  of  cats! 
Are  we  not  sometimes  like  the  lion  bold? 

As  peacocks  are  men  to  dancing  attached. 
As  antelopes  men  are  simple  also ; 
Yet  their  lives  are  nets  of  spiders'  intrigues. 
We  know  how  to  give  the  mosquito's  bite. 

Changeful  you  are  like  the  chameleon. 
The  toad's  transformation  also  is  yours ; 
Like  the  butterfly  I  am  startled  oft 
If  a  shadow  abruptly  crosses  my  path. 

The  heat  of  the  birds  we  nurse  in  our  hearts. 
This  ever  inspires  our  move  to  and  fro; 
Like  the  bees  that  always  for  honey  thirst 
We  run  from  flower  to  flower  for  strength. 

What  is  the  explosion  of  human  youth 
But  the  bursting  of  the  fly's  larval  form? 
The  chrysalis  of  life  re-creates  man 
And  endows  him  with  voice  and  organs  new. 

The  goats  ever  fight  for  females  like  men, 
Rivalry  in  love  bulls  cannot  endure, 
Like  men  the  nightingales  sing  to  their  loves, 
And  the  cocks  strike  up  love's  excited  dance. 
59 


The  fishes  give  birth  to  offsprings  untold 
As  men  and  women  free  from  care  of  food, 
In  ants  you  find  the  hordes  of  nomadic  tribes, 
And  settled  cities  in  the  hives  of  bees. 

THE  EARTH 

Here  on  this  earth  my  paradise  I  find, 
I  would  not  renounce  it  ever  if  I  could, 
Nor  in  search  of  novel  worlds  that  might  be 
Would  I  care  to  let  loose  the  reins  of  my  mind. 

The  breast  of  the  moon  is  splendid  no  doubt, 
But  her  heart  is  no  home  of  fire's  warm  glow, 
Her  nostrils  bring  no  whispers  of  love's  breath, 
A  burnt  up  mountain's  figure  is  she. 

She  garments  her  nude  self  with  the  sun's  gifts 
As  the  raven  in  a  peacock's  plumage  dressed  ; 
A  twin-sister  she  is  to  the  earth  although. 
My  soul  could  never  find  rest  in  the  moon. 

You  speak  of  the  Mars,  that  other  planet 
Where  Lowell  is  founding  a  second  earth  ? — 
(God's  rival,  a  Vishwamitra  he, 
A  Satan  unpunished  in  this  iron  age!) 

Capped  with  snow  slabs  are  the  poles  of  the  Mars, 
Only  in  spring  they  melt  and  water  life, 
Canals  have  brought  a  great  green  Egypt  there. 
Thanks  to  the  skill  of  Martian  sages. 

But  could  they  supply  my  human  demands. 
Plenty  of  the  energizing  caress  of  breeze  ? 
Therefore  with  the  sun's  red  fire  in  my  breast 
I  choose  to  home  in  the  arms  of  the  earth. 
60 


JAPAN 

Winter's  glory  is  the  chrysanthemum  here, 
The  queen  of  Nippon  in  fragrance  and  tints; 
The  white  cherry-blossoms  furnish  in  spring 
The  hilarity  of  Yamato  life. 

The  autumn  gardens  are  brightened  red 
By  the  blood-hued  leaves  of  dying  maples ; 
And  pine  forests  with  their  perennial  green 
Harbor  the  breeze  that  purges  the  lungs. 

The  seas  embraced  by  hills  put  on  their  smiles 
While  the  moon  enlivens  their  skyey  roofs, 
Dancing  rivulets  born  of  singing  springs 
Afford  constant  music  to  listening  ears. 

Silk-smooth  slabs  of  cedar  like  gold  plates 
Feed  the  eyes  in  cottages,  inns,  shrines, 
And  bright  soft  mats  velvet  the  modest  floors 
With  delicate  peaceful  feet  to  tread  on. 

The  roofs  of  tiles  ard  the  paper  walls 
Look  but  parts  of  the  landscape  around ; 
Cleanliness  is  the  religion  of  the  homes; 
As  a  limb  of  Nature  does  man  here  live. 


6i 


MIDNIGHT  BOATING 

It  is  a  midnight  boating  on  the  bay, 
Moonless,  windless,  corpse-like  rests  the  water; 
The  hills  around  look  like  the  walls  of  a  well 
Or  the  folds  of  a  lying  black  huge  snake. 

Or  is  the  dark  fortnight  frozen  into  rocks? 
The  tent  of  the  sky  is  raised  on  these  posts ; 
Therein  the  hanging  stars  emit  feeble  light, 
And  the  milky  way  from  north  to  south. 

I  see  the  shores  by  the  electric  lamps. 
As  glow-worms  in  rows  they  brighten  the  huts; 
With  lines  of  fire  they  have  striped  the  water. 
And  this  makes  visible  the  hills'  somersault. 

The  Bears  dance  on  the  sea  to  the  boat's  beats, 
And  the  shores  send  "geisha"  songs  and  "samisen" 
sounds. 


62 


A  VILLAGE  IN  JAPAN 

Hills  on  hills'  shoulders,  and  hills  on  hillsides, — 

Himalayan  verdure  everywhere! 

The  sea  of  pines  raises  waves  in  the  sky. 

And  casts  on  the  gulf  a  shadow  deep  green. 

Carpeted  with  velvet  are  the  bright  rice  fields, 
The  grey  mountain  lanes  meander  up. 
Tile-roofed   cottages   and   straw-thatched   huts 
Dot  the  sea-coasts  over  with  human  life. 

The  yellowish  green  of  thin  young  bamboo  shoots. 
And  lotus  stalks  crowned  with  dawn-hued  blossoms 
Set  off  the  kimono-clad  women-folk 
As  on  their  backs  their  babies  they  carry. 

Full-leaved  tea-plants  like  rows  of  couchant  sheep 
Are  hardly  disturbed  by  travellers'  talks; 
But  as  the  elders  ply  their  fishing-rods 
Urchins  work  havoc  on  cucumber-stands. 

With  drooping  bovT;hs  supple  willows  not  stout 
Excite  keen  rivalry  in  the  fair  sex. 
That  would  not  yield  the  palm  to  senseless  plants 
In  modesty  of  looks  and  light  soft  limbs. 


6^ 


AT  MIYAJIMA 

Where  at  the  foot  of  sacred  pine-clad  hills 
A  Shinto  shrine  is  lapped  on  by  the  sea, 
There,  at  Miyajima,  the  "isle  of  the  shrine," 
Between  Nippon  and  Shikofi  I  spend  my  days. 

Here  the  tidal  waters  wash  the  base 
Of  the  "torii"  gate  mahogany-made. 
And  on  briny  sands  left  dry  at  ebb-time 
The  lovely  antelopes  gambol  and  frisk. 

Maples  are  acquiring  autumnal  red, — 
The  burnt  gold  of  Bengal's  mango  in  spring; 
Hard  by,  the  pines  are  gorgeous  in  fresh  green, 
Afar,  they  shed  the  glorious  sky-blue. 

Like  paintings  drawn  on  hillsides  are  the  inns. 
Abodes  of  peace  in  maple  and  pine  groves; 
Only  one  voice  here  keeps  silence  alive, — 
The  songs  of  joyous  springs  beneath  the  floor. 


AN  EVENING 

The  grey  clouds  have  acquired  a  yellow  tinge 
Where  the  sun  impinges  its  farewell  rays, 
Other  patches  of  jet-black  clouds  hard  by 
Through  hidden  fire  seem  besmeared  with  blood. 

Bluish  lava  of  frozen  cloud-layers 
Has  framed,  as  it  were,  the  entire  sky; 
The  eastern  horizon  and  the  mountains  there 
Are  with  gloomy  hues  accoutred  and  capped. 

The  sun  is  knocked  up  by  its  day's  hard  toil, 
The  tired  world  also  wants  respite  from  work, 
Exhausted  the  hills  look  reclining  flat. 
The  thatched  cots'  eyes  seem  arrested  by  sleep. 

The  whole  earth  has  put  on  its  sable  robes, 
Lamps  have  not  been  dressed  in  the  hamlets  yet, 
A  dreamy  land  of  spirits  and  elves 
Appears  to  have  lent  its  vagueness  to  man. 


65 


SUNSET  IN  CALIFORNIA 

This  the  westernmost  cit>-  of  the  world, 
Sanf  rancisco-f am-Berkeley  this ; 
Here  into  the  Paciric's  deep  blue  waters 
The  dying  sun  takes  daily  plunge. 

Here  is  concentrated  the  grandeur  greatest 
Of  sunset  that  the  earth  can  show; 
Blood-stained  shine  the  skies,  the  ocean,  too. 
Even  the  wide  breast  of  the  land. 

North  and  south  is  the  western  sk>-  ablaze. 
O'er  lanes  and  lawns  china  rose  seems  to  bloom. 
Mirror-like  polished  streets  burn  in  warm  red. 
Panes  reflect  the  parting  day's  glow. 

Ruddy  are  the  sand-dunes  tinged  on  sea  coasts 
Against  which  waves  numberless  dash ; 
Over  green  tree-tops  on  bare  barren  hills 
Play  ripples  of  orange  red. 

Ranches  and  farms  on  fields  of  vermilion 
Plowmen  seem  to  furrow  with  spades; 
And  on  the  orchards  of  apples  and  pears 
The  clouds  their  crimson  glory  shed. 

An  uncommon  lig^t  on  the  gorgeous  west. 
Is  ever  Nature's  wealth  at  eve ; 
Of  that  the  highest  effulgence  enshrouds 
This  westernmost  edge  of  the  western  world. 


66 


CROSSING  THE  ROCKIES 

Mount  Kanchan-jangha's  glassy  waves 
Just  to  my  right  and  left  at  dawn; 
Methinks  I  am  gliding  swiftly  through 
An  ocean  of  snow  dusts  white. 

The  Rockies'  back  seven  thousand  feet 
In  Utah  state  was  but  simple  height; 
Tennessee  Pass  ten  thousand  high 
In  Colorado  I  scale  this  morn. 

Drowsy  snows  gave  an  eerie  light 
Reflecting  the  full  moon's  pallid  smile; 
But  the  snows  set  in  the  sky's  blue  frame 
Are  burning  bright  in  warm  sunshine. 

Wealth  of  verdure  Himalayan 
Rarely  carpets  the  Rockies'  sides; 
Few  stunted  firs  and  lonesome  pines 
Furnish  apologj'  for  trees. 

Monster-like  vast  granite  boulders 
Mount  guard,  erect  or  couchant  flat; 
And  through  the  lanes  of  weird  stone  blocks 
Half -frozen  waters'  rivulets  dance. 

Fountains  murmur  music  to  ears. 

Ice  floats  along  with  the  currents ; 

Here  and  there  slabs  of  compressed  snow 

Hide  from  sight  the  stream's  onward  flow. 

Reddish  hills  wall  up  both  the  sides 
Of  a  narrow  treeless  defile, — 
Partly  the  scenes  these  of  the  Western  Ghats 
While  one  descends  into  the  Kankan  coasts. 
67 


BLEAK  DECEMBER 

It  is  December ;    trees  have  shed  their  leaves ; 
The  grains  have  been  sheaved  by  farmers  away ; 
Miles  and  miles  I  see  gilded  orange  bright 
By  withered  shrubs,  grass,  and  long  stalks  of  maize. 

Snow  dusts  are  flying  madly  through  the  streets, 
Nostrils  and  eyes  weep,  the  ears  are  bitten  numb; 
Death  has  gripped  the  avenues  of  town  elms ; 
The  meadows  not  far  look  like  forests  burnt  brown. 

Solid  frozen  is  the  Iowa's  current, 
A  meandering  thread  of  whitish  snow, — 
In  disguise  a  blessing,  it  affords  good  time 
To  youths   and   their  girls   in   their   love's  skating 
dance. 

Showers  upon  showers  of  powdered  snow 
Have  noiselessly  covered  the  roofs  and  yards. 
The  roads  are  buried  even  three  feet  thick, — 
A  desert  of  dry  milk  froth  all  white. 

Houses  in  cities  have  the  heat  from  steam, 
Farms  in  the  villages  are  almost  dead. 
Nature  is  arrested  wholesale  by  cold. 
Creation's  fire  has  been  banished  from  earth. 

Only  perhaps  in  view  of  the  coming  feasts 
On  merry  Christmas  and  New  Year  Eves 
Women  are  making  cakes  in  rural  homes. 
And  the  tongues  of  children  water  thereto. 


68> 


SPRING 

Again  has  fresh  life  burst  on  the  old  earth, 
Nature  is  shivering  through  a  vital  urge, 
The  incubus  of  snovi's  is  off  the  fields, 
Molten  spirit  courses  free  in  the  Charles. 

No  more  do  dusky  fogs  blind  the  eyes, 
Villas  on  Boston  hills  seem  quite  at  hand ; 
Doors  wide  open,  the  world  enters  the  room, 
Every  live  being  is  out  tasting  the  earth. 

Resurrection  is  on  amongst  dead  trees. 
Living  leaves  are  shooting  out  inch  by  inch. 
The  squirrel  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  warm 
Layeth  her  head  on  the  breast  of  the  branch. 

Verdure  is  manifest  at  spots  on  lawns. 

Pigeons  fly  into  men's  arms  in  the  parks. 

With   changed   garments  around   man  keeps   pace. 

The  senses  are  stirred  by  the  new  year's  youth. 


.69 


SPRING  IN  AMERICA 

Not  in  America  does  the  spring  bring  forth 
The  honeyed  leaves  of  Indian  mango  trees, 
No  "palash"  here  stands  with  enormous  boughs 
To  display  fire-buds  in  the  upper  air. 

The  "bokool"  blossoms'  fragrance  is  not  borne 
Into  the  rooms  by  the  blast  of  the  breeze, 
Bees  in  millions  are  not  busy  here 
To  suck  at  the  flowers'  lips  their  juicy  souls. 

Fresh  green  foliage  has  overspread  the  skies, 
The  fields  are  furnishing  their  floral  feasts, — 
Some  painter  in  his  color-studies  absorbed 
May  have  dipped  his  brush  in  the  wealth  of  life! 

Cotton  flakes  white  seem  to  have  enveloped 
The  short-statured  pears  with  flowery  vests ; 
Like  guinea-gold  are  the  young  leaves  on  twigs 
Of  other  trees  that  brighten  the  garden  groves. 

Red  and  white  are  the  tulips  swollen  proud 

Like  the  "champa"  that  blossoms  low  at  your  feet. 

The  tiny  forsythias  yellow  the  fence 

Before  they  make  way  for  the  sprouting  leaves. 

Sparrows  are  coming  from  the  bush  to  the  roofs, 
Meadows  are  astir  with  the  ducks'  loud  quacks, 
In  stately  style  do  the  swans  move  their  necks 
While  they  enjoy  their  royal  swim  on  streams. 


70 


AFTER  A  SPRING  SHOWER 

Spring  showers  have  refreshed  the  foliage  life, 
All  earth  is  now  satined  with  the  greenest  grass, 
The  crystal  stream  is  lapping  against  the  banks, 
The  warm  air  is  drunk  with  the  smell  of  damp  soils. 

With  boys  and  girls  are  the  mothers  at  play 
Under  the  pear  trees  young  in  half-formed  leaves. 
Couples  of  sweet-hearts  are  happy  ensconced 
In  the  smug  nooks  of  forsythia  bush. 

Yellow  dandelions  have  starred  the  fields. 
Plentiful  as  "ganda,"  the  winter's  gift; 
In  clusters  hang  white  lilacs  from  the  shrubs, — 
Images  of  budding  love's  soft  tender  soul. 

Walls  are  hidden  under  creeping  ivy  leaves, 
Wistarias  speak  through  violet  lips, 
The  caws  of  crows  mix  with  the  buzz  of  flies, 
Multi-colored  life  reigns  in  streets  and  groves. 


71 


THE  BLUE  HILL 

Drenched  in  the  rain  I  am  out  on  the  Blue  Hill, 
Gray  Jersey  cows  are  grazing  in  the  farms, 
The  forsythias  are  being  shorn  of  blooms, — 
And  their  bright  yellow  by  green  leaves  replaced. 

Large  cups  seduce  me  from  their  garden  homes, 
Seated  on  the  crowns  of  vigorous  green  stalks, — 
Tulips  youthful,  six-petalled  blossoms  they. 
Grand  in  colour,  white,  yellow,  lotus-red. 

Narcissuses,  peers  of  "tagar"  white. 
Display  at  the  core  their  yellow  cups  red-fringed, — 
Pure  marble  plates,  six-rayed  stars  on  thin  stems, 
Boldly  to  the  air  their  bosoms  they  unveil. 

Carnations  ruddy  white  arrest  my  eyes, 
Green-perianthed,  and  with  corollas  thick; 
Golden  leaves  are  darkening  into  green  on  trees, 
Apple  flowers  on  the  grass  I  mistake  for  hail. 


72 


STATUE  OF  LIBERTY 

Thou,  through  whom  alone  man  differs  from  beast, 
Whose  absence  dehumanizes  mankind, 
Who  leadest  man  take  the  Creator's  stand, 
Who  inducest  schemes  and  thoughts  scale  the  skies. 

Whose  eyes  guide  aptitudes  attain  full  growth, 
Who   aidest   free  movements   through    heaven    and 

earth, 
Who  inspirest  man  the  impossible  to  do. 
Who  buildest  a  world  of  unending  hopes. 

Whose  essence  is  ever  new,  fresh,  mobile. 
And  admits  of  adjustments  by  days, 
Who  enrichest  man's  life  with  nature's  gifts. 
Simplicity,    straightforwardness,    ease, 

Through  whom  is  achieved  the  completest  being 
Of  the  child,  man,  woman,  society,  race. 
With  whose  extinction  is  driven  underground 
The  self-hood  of  all  persons  and  nations. 

Whose  message  is  the  basis  of  character. 
Origin  of  morals,  and  source  of  creeds. 
Energy  behind  all  world-forces,  Thou, 
O  Liberty,  the  very  fount  of  life! 


73 


SHAKTI  (ENERGY) 

In  ripe  corn's  golden  silk  her  I  have  found ; 
On  the  sky's  broad  breast  does  she  reveal  herself; 
Numberless  messages  through  air  she  sends 
Which  the  clouds  on  their  wings  convey  to  me; 
Without  effort  she  has  her  soul  announced 
In  the  blooming  flowers'  fragrance  and  tints. 

In  the  noisy  hubbub  of  thronging  crowds 
Have  I  heard  her  voice  musical  and  clear; 
Her  balmy  breath  through  nostrils  I  have  drunk 
While  lonesome  on  the  silent  peaks  of  hills. 

With  loving  hands  has  she  caressed  my  limbs 
Applying  the  soft  beams  of  cool  moonlight; 
And  on  the  bright  waters  of  the  ocean 
The  speeches  of  her  eyes  I  have  perused. 

In  the  sun-burnt  regions  of  deserts  wild 
Her  alone  I  have  companion  found ; 
Through  the  million  drops  of  rain  from  on  high 
Her  presents  of  pearl-beads  have  come  to  me. 

How  often  silvery  pure  has  she  smiled 
Over  the  tree-tops  glistening  with  snows! 
And  in  the  murmuring  songs  of  brooks 
Her  spirit's  current  has  come  flowing  down. 

In  all  my  tears  and  smiles  and  hopes  and  fears 
A  personality  through  her  I  claim; 
In  darkness,  however,  I  find  her  best 
When  quite  alone  in  the  midnight  dead. 


74 


IV 

"WHAT  LOVE  MIGHT  BE,  HATH  BEEN, 
AND  IS" 


IN  THE  STATE  OF  NATURE 

(From  "The  Beginnings  of  the  Swiss  Republic") 

To  lay  the  foundations  of  the  temple  of  life 
They  felt  no  need  for  auspicious  flowers. 

No  hymns  of  priests  did  their  souls  make  one, 
They  found  a  free  spot  between  earth  and  sky ; 
No  lawns  and  halls  were  crowded  with  guests 
While  the  cementing  of  their  hearts  was  on. 

The  rolling  waters  made  music  thereto, 
The  pipe  was  played  by  the  sonorous  wind. 
Stars  in  clusters  were  witnesses  above, 
And  the  fire  of  two  loving  hearts  below. 


77 


THE  WOMAN'S  FANCY 

Full  of  grace  is  his  body's  build, 
Large-souled  heroic  youth  is  he ; 
Attracted  by  my  little  heart's  strength 
Down  from  heaven  he  has  been  brought. 

The  silent  smile  of  my  calm  eyes 
His  life's  sole  enthusiasm  is; 
He  likes  to  win  fame  by  his  work 
Because  that  would  add  to  my  pride. 

Throughout  the  land  his  name  is  carried 
On  account  of  his  daily  deeds; 
His  greatness  I  do  not  understand, — 
In  warfare,  in  arts,  or  in  science? 

For  the  good  of  the  people  or  the  state 

Perchance  he  has  duties  stern ; 

If  into  fire  he  has  to  run 

My  face  still  shines  before  his  eyes. 

While  far  from  me  he  lives  alone 
In  my  memories  home  he  makes ; 
Even  in  lonesome  silent  forests 
My  voice  he  can  distinctly  hear. 

By  my  side  his  is  a  baby's  heart, — 
As  it  were,  a  child  or  brother  mine ; 
Love's  whole  self  he  is  and  finds  in  me 
His  darling,  sister,  mother,  all. 

The  whole  universe  we  fill  out, 
Though  but  two  souls,  myself  and  he ; 
He  is  the  ruler  of  the  world, , 
And  me  ?  I  live  only  by  loving. 
78 


MAZZINI'S    THOUGHTS    REGARDING 
MAGDALENE 

(From  "The  Youth  of  Mazzini") 

Unseen  sweetness  is  she  in  my  dutiful  life, 

As  formless  fragrance  mingles  in  the  tempest's  be- 
ing; 

Through  all  my  emotions  and  heavings  runs  her 
breath ; 

Hues  to  my  activity  she  gives  like  sunlight ; 

Hers  the  hand  that  pumps  the  blood  of  my  heart; 

Hers  the  life-breath  moving  through  the  forge  of 
my  lungs. 

Energy  fierce,  efforts  vast,  move  determined 

To  one  end  relentless,  dreadfully  serious. 

Stern  responsibility,  catadysmal  might, — 

All  these  are  my  companions  ever  on  earth; 

Even  in  such  a  forest  has  the  jasmine  blossomed 

forth. 
Even  with  Vesuvian  eruptions  it  sends  perfumes. 

Her  soul's  tenderness  makes  me  impart   grace   to 

strength. 
Under  her  eyes  life's  value  has  risen  hundredfold  ; 
Fresh  glories  and  meanings  I  see  everywhere  now, — 
It  is  her  wealth  added  new  to  my  own  austere  eyes. 


79 


THE     FITA     NVOVA     EXPLAINED     BY 
DANTE 

(From   "Dream-Beatrice") 

I  love  her  limbs'  build  beautiful  and  strong, 

Soft    round    arms,    smooth    neck,    face   bright   with 

health's  bloom. 
Marble-pure  skin-pride,  dawn's  smile  on  lips. 
The  cool  stream  of  love's  light  in  tender  eyes, 

The  youthful  bosom,  flowing  silken  hair. 
The  glossy  pools  of  eyes  beneath  brows  still, 
Gentle  voice,  messenger  from  heart's  recess. 
Balmy  breath's  current,  proof  of  spotless  life. 

Steady  graceful  gait,  head  erect,  kindly  gaze. 
Sitting  and  standing  simple,  body  straight. 

But  most  of  all  I  love  her  soul  unseen 
Charmed  and  concentrated  by  the  spell  of  love, — 
Of  which  the  brows,  eyes,  lips,  face,  movements 
Are  but  external  expressions  and  forms, — 

Whose  real  utterance  is  heart-beats  quick. 
Sweet  tears  from  eyes,  and  sensitizing  touch, — 
The  speechless  urge  from  which  is  a  holy  call 
For  my  limbs  and  mind  in  devotion  to  pause. 


80 


SHAKOONTALA'S  TEARS  REMEMBERED 
BY  DOOSYANTA 

(From  "The  Expiation  of  Doosyanta") 

''Speak  once,  O  darling  mine,  that  thou  wouldst  not 

Forget  me  ever  in  thy  mind  ; 

I  would  manage  to  live  in  my  limbs 

Solely  on  the  strength  of  that  word. 

"To  thee  my  life  I  have  surrendered  for  good, 

In  thy  hands  would  it  ever  rest; 

If  once  a  heart  be  given  away  in  full 

Can  it  be  afterwards  taken  back? 

"Million  times  a  day  only  one  word 
Would  ring  on  the  strings  of  my  heart : 
'Beside  myself  have  I  nothing  mine  own 
That  I  can,  dear,  present  thee  with.' 

"What  I  have  once  given  away  to  thee,  sweet. 
Oft  would  I  give  thee,  O  soul  of  my  soul, — 
A  little  heart,  the  gift  of  a  simple  girl, 
But  full  and  rich  with  thoughts  of  thee. 

"Thy  shadow  I  am,  master  of  my  being, 

This  is  my  one  hapj  '"ness  on  earth  ; 

My  hopes,  dreams,  and  memories,  all  would  tell 

Ever  and  oft:  'Myself  is  thine.' 

"My  home  thou  art,  wheresoever  livest  thou 
Far  from  this  hermitage  of  saints ; 
Thy  image  would  on  the  plate  of  my  soul 
Remain  engraved  ever  bright." 

The  maiden's  eyes  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears 
As  these  words  her  inner  self  opened  out ; 
That  picture  of  bitter  pang  I  had  drawn 
With  a  piercing  steel  on  my  heart. 

8i 


WHILE  HE  IS  AWAY 

No  more  to  her  hair  she  attends, 
Nor  cares  she  for  ornaments  now ; 
Two  wells  of  peace  are  her  deep  eyes 
In  reflective  satiety  fixed. 

Fast  closed  her  lips  are  always  now ; 
Her  face  with  paleness'  glory  shines, — 
Beneath  the  shroud  of  a  double  cloud 
Like  the  moon  that  is  fading  wan. 

A  single  word  comes  out  with  her  breath 
Whether  asleep  or  awake. 
All  the  channels  within  her  breast 
With  the  stream  of  that  word  are  filled. 

For  food  appetite  she  has  lost, 
And  is  not  refreshed  in  sleep. 
Speechless  she  does  her  household  work 
All  lonesome;  in  that  is  her  rest. 

Where  darkness  lies  concentrated  deep 
And  where  people  no  bustle  make. 
There  her  heart  by  day  and  by  night 
In  soft  slow  beatings  palpitates. 

How  often  she  wakes  while  at  bed 
Startled,  quivering,  and  sheds  tears! 
For  one  soul  in  her  eye-drops  flow 
Million  prayers  of  her  heart. 

The  deathless  tie  of  souls  she  adores, 
She  minds  not  beauty,  wealth  and  fame; 
A  piece  of  heaven  is  the  deepened  life 
Of  a  woman  in  the  longings  of  love. 
82 


FAUST  RELATING  THE  GRETCHEN 
EPISODE  TO  MEPHISTOPHELES 

(From  "Faust's  Experience") 

No  weakness  is  love,  it  is  strength  infinite; 
In  the  bonds  of  senses  two  souls  get  free. 

Subjection  is  reckoned  priceless  glory 
In  only  one  sphere  of  human  life's  run, — 
The  sacred  slavery  of  love  is  that, 
Man  and  woman's  mutual  dependence. 

Unrestricted  freedom  each  surrenders, 
Each  abandons  the  ways  of  one's  sweet  will ; 
Sanctified  the  union  of  Ipve  becomes 
By  the  equal  sacrifice  of  each. 

Though  unbodied  itself,  the  foundations  of  love 
Lie  in  the  earthly  mud  of  flesh  and  blood ; 
Without  senses  surely  no  love  could  be  born, 
The  senses  are  the  golden  gates  of  heaven. 

Tears,  sighs    deep,    heartbeats    loud,    and    halting 

speech. 
Eyes'  thirst,  hopes  of  lips,  and  hunger  of  arms. 
Trembling   limbs,    senseless   self,    and    blood's,    race 

fast, — 
Each  pours  into  life  a  moment's  health  and  vigour. 

In  such  a  moment  is  tasted  endless  life, 

Man  and  woman  do  the  impossible  through  love. 


THE  LOVER'S  WOMAN 

(From  "Browning  and  Barrett") 

Never  of  earth's  flesh  and  blood  are  woman's  limbs 

formed, 
Kindliness  and  love  in  human  being's  shape  is  she ; 
In  her  eyes  dwells  mercy,  endless  good  in  her  touch. 
She  breathes  self-sacrifice,  and  speaks  freedom  and 

trust. 

Her  heart  is  the  home  of  an  ocean  profound 
That  is  brimful  of  self-denying  sympathy's  milk; — 
A  series  of  offerings  is  woman's  whole  life, 
Disinterested  devotion's  stream  is  her  blood. 

A  fountain  of  never-failing  energy  is  she ; 

The  petals  of  heart  she  silently  opens  out 

By  the  gentle  rays  from  her  loving  tender  eyes; 

And  spirit  super-sensual  her  arms'  embrace  gives 

Only  one  religion  abides  in  the  woman's  soul, — 
She  makes  man  of  animal,  and  god  of  mankind ; 
Teacher  of  restraint  and  sense  of  duty  is  she ; 
By  her  is  filled  with  courage  even  the  coward's  heart. 

And  if  contact  with  her  body's  muscles  and  limbs 
Leads  a  human  being  immortal  to  feel, 
Is  not  woman  the  very  goddess  of  the  world? 
And  are  not  the  organs  of  sense  God's  tabernacles? 


84 


AN  EPISTLE  OF  MAZZINI 

(From  "The  Youth  of  Mazzini") 

How  many  gifts  have  I  received  from  her 
Fragrant  with  the  smell  of  her  heart! — 
A  leaflet,  a  flower,  a  lace, 
That  decked  the  tresses  of  her  hair, 

The  ribbon  of  warm-red  silk  that  was  tied 
To  the  dress  of  her  heaving  breast, 
A  lock  of  golden  hair  that  wantonly  danced 
Down  her  sides  and  neck  and  back, 

A  handkerchief  with  her  own  fingers  sewed 
Under  eyes  steadfast  and  intent, 
Ever\'  stitch  in  which  is  her  love-talk 
With  the  dearest  star  of  her  being, 

A  volume  whose  pages  she  has  perused 
And  marked  with  pencil  for  me, 
In  marking  which  her  sensitive  fingers 
Shivered  glad  in  the  very  act. 

Numberless  letters  all  with  writing  filled 
In  her  pearl-likt  characters  small. 
Whose  every  line  is  the  mouthpiece  true 
Of  genuine  tears,  smiles  and  joys. 

How  oft  with  the  fire  of  her  breast 
Before  despatching  she  warms  her  gifts! 
Them  she  makes  the  messengers  of  her  soul 
With  hot  stamps  of  thousand  kisses. 

But  every  moment  her  life  she  sends 
Along  with  the  breeze  of  her  breath ; 
Her  spirit  I  receive  in  the  day's  sunshine. 
Her  eyes  in  the  moon  and  stars  at  night. 
85 


REPENTANT  DOOSYANTA  REFLECTING 
ON  WOMAN 

(From  "The  Expiation  of  Doosyanta") 

The  genius  of  woman  lies  in  love, 
Therein  her  human  mission  she  fulfils. 

It  is  woman  who  loves  and  in  love  does  live, 
Man  knoweth  not  what  is  that  thing  called  love ; 
In  man's  life  love  is  one  of  thousand  acts, 
Love  is  the  only  substance  in  woman's  heart. 

Self-effacing  atoms  her  elements  are. 
Cares  for  others  form  powder  for  her  limbs, 
Thoughts  for  others  make  her  consciousness'  stream. 
Ever  through  her  veins  flow  prayers  for  others. 

Her  self-surrender  endows  all  senses 
And  their  delights  with  transcendent  re-birth ; 
Her  soul  charmed  in  the  magic  bonds  of  love 
Delivers  a  soul  from  imprisoned  self. 

Temple  of  renunciation  is  her  frame, 
Muddy,  material,  mortal  although; 
The  love  that  oozes  in  the  female  heart 
Is  the  fount  of  discipline  among  men. 

Never  a  half  of  man's  being  is  woman. 
Womanhood  is  a  complete  distinct  force; 
The  heavenly  self-sacrifice  of  hers 
Brings  glory  to  all  that  is  done  by  man. 


86 


V 

PERSONALITY 


ROBERT  BROWNING 

Approach  not  Robert  Browning  ye  who  want 

Success,  tranquillity,  or  peace  of  life ; 

Solution  of  conflicts,  and  harmony 

Do  not  furnish  themes  of  his  plays,  songs,  and  tales. 

A  deep  plunge  he  took  into  vital  sap 

To  perceive,  explain,  convey  life's  own  being; 

Life  is  but  movement,  unrest,  revolution, — 

A  story  of  fight  and  grand  defeat. 

Man  is  not  he  who  is  content  with  success. 

He  is  man  indeed  who  ever  failure  seeks ; 

Daily  to  seize  fresh  future  is  his  one  care. 

To  grasp  the  moon,  up  into  the  skies  to  fly. 

Hair-splitting  critic  is  Browning;  he  paints 

Eternal  soul  and  finite  body's  strife ; 

Heroes,  hermits,  lovers,  priests,  scholars,— all 

Bear  on  flesh  and  blood  endless  yearning's  marks. 

Wildly  in  the  breast  of  men  and  women 

Surges  the  same  Paracelsian  word  : 

"Immense  am  I,  iri  mortal  is  m5'self. 

Grow   I   would,  break   I  would,  though  bound   in 

mud." 
Life  is  not  in  any  moment  exhausted. 
In  any  nucleus,  person,  or  race ; 
To  fail  is  the  nature  progressive  man's, 
New  hopes  live  on  through  despair,  doubt,  death. 

Teacher  of  efforts,  of  fruition  careless  , 

O  thou  world's  greatest,  best  critic  of  life! 

Thine  is  the  modern  Geeta's  gospel  of  hope 

And  work  for  its  own  sake,  O  seer,  energist  bold! 

89 


WALT  WHITMAN 

No  human  being  indeed  is  Walt  Whitman, 
Yankeestan's  Niagara  Falls  is  he; 
Impetuosity  of  cataracts 
And  tumult  cataclysmal  fill  his  being. 

Language's  fetters  sundered  he  has, 
He  has  violated  the  rhythm  so-called ; 
Delight  he  finds  in  smashing  to  pieces 
Formulae  and  tastes  which  the  market  rule. 

Broken  had  been  the  shell  of  Egypt  and  Greece 
For  bringing  into  life  an  Europe  young, 
Spurning  Europe  defiantly  arose 
The  Americans'  home  in  lands  new  found ; 

In  this  America,  again,  was  the  East 
Transformed  to  pioneer  the  Middle  and  the  West; 
Further  revolution  was  brought  on  earth 
By  steam   propelling  carriages   and   boats; 

Revolution  in  revolution's  wake. 

Changes  upon  changes,  freshness  refreshed, — 

All  this  is  monumented  in  the  song 

Of  the  Yankee  people,  called  "Leaves  of  Grass." 

Leaves  of  grass?  Yes,  it  was  in  grass  that  Whitman 
The  vital  impulse  of  the  universe  found, — 
In  man's  daily  stirs,  frets,  sleep,  sports,  sex-life 
The  liberation  of  his  endless  soul. 

What  increaseth  life,  energy,  and  joy, 
And  resists  the  onset  of  grief  and  death, — 
Is  men  and  women's  universal  creed ; 
Superfluous  all  other  dogmas  preached. 
90 


ASOKA 

Was  Asoka  but  an  ascetic  king, 
That  grand  monarch  of  a  united    Ind? 
Let  us  see :  was  it  not  he  that  followed  close 
Kautilya's  Machiavellian  code? 

Did  the  "Artha-shastra's"  teachings  inspire 
Self -mortification   in    princely    flesh? 
Had  he  not  drunk  of  Shookracharya's  lore 
That  finds  in  politics  the  highest  art? 

To  Central  Asia  his  men  he  sent, 
Bearers  of  his  own  and  empire's  names; 
Syria,  Greece,  Macedon,  Epirus, 
Eg)'pt  and  Kyrene  also  heard  the  same. 

The  world's  gifts  he  brought  into  his  own  land, 
At  Patalipootra  the  Hindus  learnt  Greek; 
Medical  doctors  he  despatched  far  West 
And  his  ambassadors  to  the  great  powers. 

As  sovereign  universal  he  summoned 
All  rulers  to  Dhamma's  supreme  control; 
What  was  that  Dhamma?  Not  a  creed  of  retreat 
From  the  world,  but  India's  message  of  life. 

Let  us  see :  was  it  not  he  that  inscribed 
His  commands  on  rocks  all  ages  to  guide? 
Surely  he  enjoyed  the  majestic  sway 
And  domestic  bliss  as  earthly  king! 

If  such  the  self-less  renunciation  be 

Of  which  hermits'  spiritual  souls  are  made, 

Were   not  the   Caesers  and   Fredericks  quietists 

then. 
Tang  Tai-tsung,  Napoleon,  and  Peter? 
91 


VIRGIL 

No  mere  antiquarian  thou, 
Latin  hero,  Virgil! 
To  old  tales  thou  hast  given  shape 
At  thy  own  fancy  sweet. 

The  blaze  of  mid-day  sun  thou  hast  poured 
Upon  national  life's  dawn; — 
Forefathers  are  surely  supermen 
If  offsprings  have  success! 

Civil  wars  had  ceased,  and  conflicts 
Of  republican  mobs; 
Powerful  Augustus  was  enthroned 
In  Roman  empire  new ; — 

The  queen  of  all  lands  then  became 
The  land  of  the  Latin  race, 
Hence,  in  thine  eyes,  as  in  Livy's, 
Heaven  indeed  was  Rome. 

Wherever  success  would  crown 
The  efforts  a  people  malces, 
An  "Aeneid"  it  would  write  to  prove 
Golden  childhood's  promise. 

As  the  gods  wished,  Aeneas  had  left  Troy 
To  seek  Latian  shores, 
Through  his  exploits  thou  hast  foretold 
A  "Bhavisya  Puran." 

Homer's  disciple,  inspirer 
Of  Dante's  and  Mazzini's, 
Teacher  of  patriotism  thou 
Of  all  ages  and  climes! 
92 


DANTE 

By  Beatrice's  love,  O  Dante,  stirred, 
Thou,  prince  of  Florence's  poets! 
In  the  love  of  woman  thou  foundst 
The  nucleus  of  the  infinite  world. 

Cavalier  bold,  city-father  stern. 
Death-sentenced,  exiled,  thy  life  was 
The  full  mine  of  experiences  rich 
That  the  Middle  Ages  could  give. 

No  language-wealth,  no  unity's  strength, 
No  empire's  glorj'  in  thy  time 
The  Italian  enjoyed ;  hence  thy  voice 
To  people's  ears  raised  trumpet-call. 

A  new  vitality  acquiredest  thou 
When  but  nine  years  thou  wert  of  age, 
The  innocent  looks  of  a  simple  child 
Smiled  with  eternal  blessings  on  thy  soul. 

The  gift  of  a  moitient  from  the  female  heart 
Brought  immortality  to  thy  aims, — 
Revived  the  "Aeneid"  of  Virgil,  thy  guide, 
Inspired  Mazzini  freedom  to  preach ; 

Thence  came  also  Purgatory's  cleansing, 
Hopes,  and  ideals  for  mankind ; 
Woman's  eyes  then  are  not  made  of  trifling  flesh, 
Heaven  speaks  through  her  love-charmed  glance. 


93 


NAPOLEON 

No  avatar  of  brute  force  wert  thou, 
Child  of  Corsica,  and  servant  of  France! 
Napoleon,  thou  vi^ert  patented  by 
Superb  Imagination  herself. 

Thy  soul  wanted  to  give  noble  shapes 

To  ideas  vast  and  wide  as  the  skies. 

The  exploits  of  the  French  gave  thee  but  scope 

To  display  thy  creative  genius'  strength. 

To  save  the  patrie  from  foreign  tyrants 
The  infant  republic  sought  thy  hands'  aid ; 
Signalled  by  thy  self-confident  fingers, 
The  volunteers  achieved  easy  success. 

Democracy's  guard !     No  aggressor  thou, 
The  aggressors  lay  humbled  at  thy  feet ; 
Fortune  made  thee  dominus  omnium 
Over  astonished  Europe  awhile. 

Protector  of  industries,  science,  arts. 
Source  of  mass-education,  legal  codes. 
Apostle  of  empire's  renown  as  well. 
Thou  art  the  idol  still  in  all  French  hearts. 

Not  France  alone  thy  debtor  thus,  thy  work 
Has  ushered  in  the  modern  age's  lights; 
German  unity's  father  thou,  herald 
Of  national  movements,  and  Italy  free. 


94 


GOETHE 

Strange  was  thy  life  from  beginning  to  end, 
Goethe,  thou  greatest  among  Germans  born ! 
It  was  a  melting-pot,  a  crucible  grand 
That  boiled  what  conflict  most  into  a  mass. 

Sweet  fancy's  companion  thou  at  soul, 
Yet  Weimar  state  was  piloted  by  thee ; 
Ever  on  poesy's  ocean  afloat. 
Yet  in  science's  exact  methods  skilled. 

Students  today  of  positive  knowledge 

Recognize  in  thee  a  monument  great, — 

Through  thee  the  flower  is  but  leaf  transformed, 

And  the  brain  continues  the  spinal  cord.  ^^ 

How  elastic  could  thy  heart  ever  be  ^  . 

To  bear  a  new  woman's  love  every  day ! 

How  didst  thou  manage  to  be  set  aflame  m^ 

Each  time  with  equal  passion  sincere?  T^ 

Werter,  Wilhelm,  Hermann,  and  Faust  have  come 

Of  that  experience  t.ea-like  complex. 

Into  the  frame  of  thy  own  full-lived  life 

Thou  hast  grouped  the  problems  of  whole  mankind. 

Schiller,  whom  the  stormers  and   stressers  adored, 
Was  thy  most  personal  intimate  friend, 
Yet  never  didst  thou  lose  thy  calm  Greek  poise 
In  the  abandon  of  his  romantic  dreams. 

Thy  country  groaned  under  Napoleon's  heels, 
Yet  thou  his  glad  associate  couldst  be! 
Thou  didst  not  join  in  movements  national. 
But  thou  art  the  fountain  of  German  Kulturl 

95 


n 


DWI-JENDRA-LAL  ROY 

With  dreams  and  memories  hast  thou  destroyed 
The  bounds  of  the  spiritless  real  world ; 
Crystals  of  energy  hast  thou  strained  off 
From  the  solution  of  Young  Bengal's  life.  - 

In  medieval  ages  Hindustan  had 
Springs  of  activity  and  prowess, 
These  thy  dramas  have  let  loose  and  free 
To  irrigate  a  dead  Saharan  soil. 

Nebulous  had  been  the  ideals  long, 
Formless  wandered  the  people's  visions. 
Undefined  the  objects  of  love  and  pride, 
Not  clearly  known  what  to  fear  and  hate ; — 

Then  camest  thou  to  furnish  the  goal  of  life 
And  exemplars  embodying  duty's  call. 
The  alien  hast  thou  marked  off  from  one's  own, 
With  jealousy  hast  thou  enriched  the  soul. 

Victory  or  defeat  thou  countest  not. 
Thou  but  watchest  the  race  of  human  blood, 
With  equal  earnestness  dost  thou  smell 
Life's  odor, — in  advance  as  in  downfall. 

In  heaven  there  flows  discontent,  conflict, 
Animation,  enthusiasm,  passion ; 
That  current  is  continued  below 
As  thy  idealism  and  longing  high. 

Schiller  of  the  twentieth  century 

Thou,  India's  Dwi-jendra-lal  Roy! 
Inebriated  thou  wert  with  the  light 
That  nobody  sees  on  the  breast  of  the  earth. 
96 


/^^ 


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FES  28  1933 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


